


My First Kiss (Went A Little Like This)

by jinlin5



Series: Husbands and Shit [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Domestic Mickey Milkovich, Fixing Problems with Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich Fight, M/M, Makeup Sex, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Post-Season/Series 10, Smut, a little fight, mickey is sensitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: “Ian, knock it off. It’s fuckin’ stupid okay?” Mickey was getting exasperated sitting back on his heels and finally turning his attention to his husband.“Never stopped you before,” Ian murmured, just loud enough for the thug to hear which earned him a quick and painful punch on the arm. The ginger recoiled and rubbed at the location of the sudden assault. “Fuck! Ow, Mickeyyy. Can you just say it already, you know I won’t stop until you tell me.”Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ, fine. But you’re gonna think I’m a pussy.”________________________________________________Or: Ian has a shitty memory and it ends up hurting Mickey's feelings.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Husbands and Shit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814
Comments: 20
Kudos: 308





	My First Kiss (Went A Little Like This)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little one-shot I thought up because I imagine that despite the way Mickey comes across, when it comes to Ian, he's very sentimental and detail oriented. Ian loves it of course, but he's a little more "big picture" than Mickey is, so I can see it being a problem when Mickey gets in his feelings. Good thing Ian always knows how to make it up to him ;)
> 
> This takes place in the same universe and timeline as my "What Happens After" fic, but a little earlier then that one is set!
> 
> ((Title is (obviously lol) from "My First Kiss" by 3OH!3 (feat. Ke$ha)))
> 
> Enjoy!

“Yo, Red…” 

Ian looked up from the sink full of dishes he was slowly chipping away at to see that his husband was poised in the doorway of their tiny kitchen, his arms full of Yevgeny’s toys which he had been gathering up from the floor of the living room. Svetlana had just come to collect him after the long weekend he had spent wearing his dad’s out, and both men were still coming down from the high of spending time with their son. 

“Yeah? What’s up?” Ian mumbled, returned his attention back to the dishes, allowing the warm soapy water to lap over his hands as he manipulated the sponge, scraping grime off of the plate in his grip. 

He heard Mickey breath in slowly. “Do you ever… nah fuck it nevermind,” Ian frowned and whipped his head around just in time to catch the tail end of Mickey disappearing back out into the living room. 

“What? Mick what the fuck are you on?” Ian demanded with a chuckle as he hastily wiped his hands off on a dish towel and hurried after his husband, fingers still dripping slightly, leaving a trail on the hardwood floor. 

Upon catching up with the ex-con, Ian saw that he was kneeling next to the couch, shoveling hot wheels and action figures into the large plastic bin they used as a toy chest for Yevgeny. The redhead stood over him for a minute in silence, waiting for Mickey to look at him or say anything. When nothing came, Ian scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes in playful annoyance. 

“Mick?” Ian prodded a little. Mickey glanced up at him as his hands kept working, slotting in one dinky car after another into the tote. 

“What?” Mickey quirked an eyebrow up at his husband before thumbing his nose and going back to his task. 

Ian huffed and decided to plop himself down on the floor beside the man. 

“The fuck do you mean ‘what’ Mickey, you were the one who started the conversation.” Ian crossed his legs and settled in. “What were you gonna ask me dumbass?” He questioned gently, despite the choice of words. 

“Nothin’, just drop it Firecrotch...” Mickey grunted and reached beside him for the lid of the bin. Placing it on top of the opening, Mickey leaned over the lid and pressed his weight down onto it. The covering suctioned around the plastic tote with a satisfying series of snaps.

“No way!” Ian crowed defiantly, grasping his ankles and rocking backward slightly with a laugh. “Ask me.” 

“Ian, knock it off. It’s fuckin’ stupid okay?” Mickey was getting exasperated sitting back on his heels and finally turning his attention to his husband. 

“Never stopped you before,” Ian murmured, just loud enough for the thug to hear which earned him a quick and painful punch on the arm. The ginger recoiled and rubbed at the location of the sudden assault. “Fuck! Ow, Mickeyyy. Can you just say it already, you know I won’t stop until you tell me.” 

Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes and sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ, fine. But you’re gonna think I’m a pussy.” 

“Already do,” Ian pushed his luck with this response, immediately bracing himself as the words left his lips, waiting for another rabbit punch from Mickey. Cracking one eye open, Ian saw that his husband had not even attempted to strike him and was instead kneeling with his shoulders hunched forward and his hands resting palm down on his thighs. 

“I was just gonna ask… d’you ever think about the first time I kissed you?” Mickey’s voice was deep and bashful. 

Ian blinked. That was some high key fruity shit. He felt his stomach squirm, the same butterflies that had always inhabited the space since the minute Mickey had tumbled into his life nearly a decade ago. A laugh escaped him before he could contain it, and Mickey huffed and growled, rolling onto his ass to lean up against the couch. 

“What made you want to ask that?” Ian nearly giggled the question. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey bit back, but it was half hearted. 

Ian straightened his legs out slightly and attempted to shooch closer to his husband. “Oh come on Mick, I’m not judging you, just asking,” he stretched his foot forward poking Mickey’s calf, somehow hoping that this would prove his sincerity. Mickey didn’t retaliate, but he didn’t pull away either as Ian shifted his body around to rest his back against the couch beside his husband. 

The ex-con was suspiciously silent and Ian could see out of the corner of his eye that a blush was creeping up on Mickey’s face slowly but surely, a steady heat rising from his collarbones to his forehead, reddening the tip of his ears. Ian couldn’t help but smile warmly at the sight. Even after all these years, he could still manage to fluster Mickey, and leave the southside thug tongue tied. 

Mickey plucked up the courage and glanced at him suddenly, glaring upon seeing the dopey smile plastered across the red-head’s face. “Wipe that fuckin look off your dumb mug before I do it for ya…” Mickey sneered, cracking his tattooed knuckles as if to punctuate the threat. 

Ian barked a hearty laugh in reply and shouldered into his husband's side, knocking his crooked knee into Mickey’s leg. “Hey, hey, calm down tough guy… and to answer your question, of course I think about our first kiss, you big softy,” Ian mewed, his features turning a bit more serious before adding, “but I don’t really like thinkin about the circumstances surrounding it if I’m honest.” 

Mickey’s neck snapped to look at Ian. “Wait what? Why the fuck not?”

Ian shrugged and snorted, “What do you mean, ‘why the fuck not’? Can you blame me for not wanting to think about the fact that you kissed me for the first time right before you decided to shack up with your baby mama?”

The red-head watched as a look of confusion crossed Mickey’s face, and his eyes slowly began to widen in recognition. 

“Hold up- you think that was our first kiss, Gallagher?” Mickey spat incredulously, his voice faltering a bit in a way that seemed to accentuate the vulnerability of their current conversation. 

Ian was a little at a loss for how to respond. His mind was racing faster than he could keep up with the thoughts and Mickey looked like he was getting more and more pissed for every second that he was hesitating. They sat there next to one another on the floor of the living room for an uncomfortable amount of time and Mickey’s icy glare bore into him. Ian absently wondered where this hostility was coming from; Mickey was not what you would typically refer to as ‘laid back’ but he usually wasn’t this outwardly antagonistic with Ian anymore, especially not since they had gotten hitched a few months back. Either way it appeared to Ian that Mickey was not willing to let him off of this particular train of thought without giving an answer to the question that had been posed. 

“Wasn’t it?” Ian finally offered up lamely, sounding as confused as he felt. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, judging from Mickey’s reaction. The thug sprang to his feet so quickly Ian wondered how his knees hadn’t buckled from the force. 

“Godammit Ian!” Mickey crowed, throwing his head back dramatically to groan at the ceiling, his teeth bared, jaw clenched tightly. “Un-fucking-believable!” He was off then, stalking down the hallways, to their bedroom Ian presumed, leaving the red-head dazed and confused in his wake. 

“Mick?” Ian managed to get his bearings and peel himself from the living room floor to chase after his disgruntled husband, just in time to hear a door slam shut, the old wood of their apartment walls and ceilings creaking and shuttering at the impact. He took long strides after the man, but when he arrived at the bedroom doorway and peered inside, his husband was nowhere to be seen. “Mickey?” He asked the empty room in bewilderment, until he turned slightly and realized that the slamming door he had heard moments before had clearly been the bathroom door behind him. Ian huffed, frustrated by the show Mickey was putting on, while he left the red-head in the dark about what the fuck he was so hurt by. 

Ian approached the closed door and knocked once, lightly. “Mickeyyy?” He let his voice bleed into a singsong falsetto, trying desperately to lighten the mood of the thug behind the door. There was no reply. Fuck it, Ian swore to himself, abandoning the playful tactic all together. 

“Mickey Aleksander Milkovich,” the redhead pounded his fist on the door to enunciate each part of the man’s name, “Mickey come the fuck on, I’m so confused, what is even happening?” After a desperately long breath, there was still not a peep from the inside of the bathroom. It dawned on Ian suddenly that he had not even attempted to see if the door was actually locked. Sure enough when he reached out for the handle and tired it, the knob turned easily allowing Ian access to the bathroom. 

Ian and Mickey had never done ‘boundaries’ or ‘personal space’ very well, and so Ian gave it not a second thought, thrusting the door open just as forcefully as Mickey had slammed it. “You didn’t lock it asswipe!” Ian cackled as he rushed into the small space. He noticed immediately that Mickey was poised in front of the toilet bowl, seat lifted and his Johnson in one hand to guide his stream. 

Mickey’s shoulders tensed when Ian stormed in behind him and he almost lost track of what he was doing, thankfully having just enough presence of mind not to twist the lower half of his body at all. 

“Can I get some privacy while I’m takin a fuckin piss Gallagher?” The thug bristled, glowering down at the toilet as he shook out the final drops and began stowing his junk away. 

Ian stood his ground behind his husband, bulky arms folded across his chest. “Mick, when was the last time you closed the damn door when you took a piss?” The thought almost made the red-head laugh. “Or a shit for that matter?” 

Mickey rolled his eyes into the back of his skull as he zipped his jeans. Never. That was the answer. Mickey knew he had just closed the door to be petty because he was pissed off, but he would never admit it. Mumbling something that Ian was pretty positive were not real words, the brunette moved to their tiny rusted sink, where he began washing his hands messily, unabashedly drenching everything nearby in water. 

Ian sidled up on his husband a little closer, unwilling to ignore the issue. “I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m fucking lost, Mick,” he admitted, “one minute you’re bein all adorable and shit, talkin about our first kiss and the next you’re slamming doors and you’re all pissed off at me, what did I do?” 

Mickey shut the water off lightening fast and whipped around to look Ian in the eyes, aggressively scrubbing his palms down on the front of his jeans in an effort to dry them. “You’d be pissed off too if your husband forgot about something as important as the first time you fuckin kissed him!” He barked and shoved his broad chest, roughly past the taller man with great ceremony to escape the confines of the tiny bathroom. Ian swiveled on his heels in pursuit, following the fuming man into their bedroom for real this time. 

“I didn’t forget! What are you talking about?” Ian’s questions bounced off of the brunettes back as he positioned himself in front of their bedroom window, looking intently out at the world as if there was something to look at in their slightly rundown neighborhood. 

“Well if you think that the time I jumped your bones before I married Svet was our first kiss, then you obviously did fucking forget, didn’t you douchbag?” Mickey sneered back as he felt Ian’s presence draw closer and closer. 

The red head approached his husband like someone would a cat they were trying not to scare off. He remained about three feet away from Mickey, and decided he should stop just in case the thug started swinging. “When was it then?” He said softly, admitting his defeat.

Mickey’s glare could have burned a hole straight through the glass of the window, and Ian could have sworn he saw a few shiny tears well up in the thugs eyes from the reflection in the window. The brunette blinked, mashing his eyelids together with force, and they were gone. 

Ian was a little caught off guard when Mickey turned on him, causing him to back peddle subconsciously. It’s not that he was scared of his husband; they weren’t teenagers anymore, Ian reminded himself, fist fighting to deal with feelings. But Mickey was unpredictable, and Ian knew better than to let his guard down when the thug was in such a keyed up state. 

Mickey’s teeth were bared despite his silence and Ian could see frustration leaking out of every pore. With a little twitch, the man pressed his lips tightly together so that the blood drained from the naturally pink flesh, looking as if he had made his mind up about something after much deliberation. 

Ian watched, wide eyed as his husband hastily reached for the zipper of his own jeans, roughly tugging it down and flicking open the button holding the two sides together with his other hand. 

“Mick what are you-“ Ian swallowed the rest of the question as Mickey hooked his thumb into his jeans and boxers on the right side of his body, pulling the fabric down as far as he could and leaning back so Ian’s gaze would be uninterrupted. Mickey bore his pale-naked ass cheek to his husband with a hardened expression drawn on his face. 

The ex-con refused to look the redhead in the eye as Ian took in what Mickey was clearly trying to show him. Ian felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he observed the pocked grey and burgundy divots of the scar that marred the porcelain flesh. So familiar. So Mickey. Ian saw those scars, along with the hundreds that littered Mickey’s tough sinewy exterior, nearly every day. They went virtually unnoticed after a decade of being with Mickey, as constant and unchanging as the clumps of freckles that scattered Ian’s body like constellations.

“Ring a bell?” Mickey hissed dejectedly, eyes trained at the ground. He finally decided that his ass cheek had been out in the open for long enough, and proceeded to yank his clothing back up, not bothering to re-zip or button his jeans. 

Ian definitely was picking up what Mickey was putting down. The memory came racing back to him like a long lost friend; his head being forced back suddenly into the headrest of the van, Mickey’s puckered lips pressed into his own, hard, silent, and almost painfully brief. It had been over before Ian even had a chance to register that something had irrevocably shifted in his universe, and Mickey Milkovich was bolting back out of the passengers' side door, flipping him the bird, unwittingly trailing Ian’s beating heart behind him as he went. 

“Holy shit! ” Ian breathed, scrubbing his long fingers through the ginger stubble that covered his jaw, “you kissed me right before you got shot in the ass by Ned’s bitch ex-wife! How could I forget?”

“Good fucking question,” Mickey growled, his tone giving away how downhearted he was. In the wake of Ian’s epiphany, Mickey had taken the opportunity to plunk himself down on the edge of their bed. Neither man had bothered to make it that morning after getting up and around, so Mickey batted the balled up comforter aside to make room for himself.

Ian recognized that Mickey was not fighting anymore, and took it for what it was: a bad omen. Foolishly, Ian decided that all he could do was keep talking, stabbing blindly in the dark for some kind of resolution to this confusing conversation. Mickey still had a way of befuddling the red-head like no one else. 

“Come on man…” Ian sat down carefully beside his husband, closer than Mickey was obviously comfortable with at the moment, considering how his body tensed and his head jerked to the side, allowing him to stare intently at his own feet. “I’m sorry I forgot, okay? But you’ve gotta clue me in about why you’re having a shit-fit over this! I mean people forget things! It’s been a long time. Oh, and my mood stabilizer dose just got upped two weeks ago, that could be-“ 

“Don’t you fuckin dare blame your meds on your shitty memory Gallagher!” Mickey was done staring at his feet, and was right back to glaring at Ian. He even leaned in closer to the redhead in order to spit out, “You and I both know I read every goddamn side effect listed on the back of that pill bottle, and none of them are fuckin memory loss.” 

Ian nodded sheepishly, admitting to his lame excuse. “Alright, alright. Jesus, Mick… you’re just being a little bit intense right now.” Ian knew this was superfluous of him to say; everything Mickey ever did or said was intense. He was an intense kind of guy. But this was bordering on psychotic, especially given the relative mundanity of the topic at hand. 

The men were quiet for a few moments after Ian’s statement, and Mickey was staring at him, his eyebrows tightly screwed up in the middle of his face, his eyes roving frantically over Ian’s features in a way that made the red head feel a little unsettled. Finally, Mickey sucked in a breath through his nostrils and opened his mouth to respond. 

“I just feel like...” the thug began with a carefully measured tone and it was not lost on Ian how wildly amazing it was to hear Mickey being willing to share how he felt, “... like you should remember our first kiss.” Mickey paused and shook his head a bit. “fuck Ian. It took everything I had in me to do it that day, plus I got shot in the fuckin ass for you not two minutes later, and it still wasn’t memorable enough for you? Was it that shitty?” 

This was one of those rare moments where Mickey let every single guard down in front of his husband, Ian knew he was not angry, he was hurt. The Mickey everyone else knew could make those two emotions look one in the same- Ian was not so easily fooled. 

The redhead reached out without a second thought and took Mickey’s smaller, tattooed hand from where it lay palm down on his thigh. Mickey let him. It was a peace treaty of sorts. A declaration that they were both ready to talk like adults about the issue. 

“Of course it wasn’t shitty, Mick.” Ian coaxed Mickey’s fingers into intertwining with his own, “I guess everything we’ve been through since sorta… overshadows it in my head? I’m not sure if that makes sense.” 

Ian broke into a laugh suddenly and mirthfully. “I still can’t believe we’re seriously talking about our first kiss like a couple a’ queens.” 

Mickey was quiet as Ian’s nervous laughter died. Dropping his hand, the ex-con folded his arms across his chest and Ian felt his temperature rise a degree or two as he saw Mickey’s pale skin stretched taught over his biceps, perfectly framed by the grey muscle shirt he wore. Giving his partner a subconscious once over, the redhead’s eyes roamed over Mickey’s body before he could stop them. Mickey was still clearly aggravated at him but as usual, this made Ian even more hot and bothered- when they were younger, it had always been some sort of sick fascination of his to get the thug all wound up and then plow him like there was no tomorrow. Things had changed quite a bit since then; for one, they’re relationship was based on more than just sex. 

“Guess that shit just meant more to me than it did to you.” Mickey’s pitiful mumble broke Ian’s trance, and the red head felt a pang in chest like he had been physically wounded, thoughts of lust momentarily forgotten. 

“Babe!” Ian blurted loudly, arms shooting out and grasping both of Mickey’s shoulders, forcing the man’s broad chest to swivel towards him. Mickey’s blue eyes were wide and his pupils dilated as he stared at his husband’s panicked expression. The thug could count on both hands how many times in ten fucking years Ian had called him a pet name other than ‘tough-guy’, ‘Mick’, or some obscene combination of words that would be an insult to any other person on the planet. Of the times Mickey could count, most had been when Ian got carried always while balls deep in his ass. The other times were split between severe episodes of depression, and pure sarcasm. This time was different. Ian was trying to prove something.

Ian’s gaze flicked down to see that his fingernails were digging into Mickey’s shoulder’s hard enough to leave marks, and so he made a concerted effort to relax his grip with one hand, bringing the other up to his husband’s jaw. “Don’t fucking say that Mick,” he had intended to say it louder, but it came out as more of a whisper. 

Mickey’s entire body was taut but unflinching as he was forced to stare Ian down. It was either that or close his eyes, which would have made him feel even sillier than he already did. “What?” Mickey’s eyebrows arched up high, causing his forehead to crease with the effort. “Don’t say what Gallagher? That you don’t remember when I kissed you because you didn’t give a fuck to begin with?” The thug knew this was blatantly untrue, and that Ian had wanted to be kissed; wanted to be loved; more than anything back then. But he was hurt. And he needed Ian to feel it. 

“Mickey. Shut. The fuck. Up.” Ian’s green and gold flecked eyes looked possessed and he hissed the words- a warning- into Mickey’s face. His lips were closer than before. Closer than they should have been. 

Mickey’s eyes darted downward to look at them, despite trying his hardest to ignore them. He absolutely hated feeling so needy, but he was, and he knew exactly what for. He watched Ian’s bright pink tongue dart out across his bottom lip, and the skin shone, wet and inviting. “Make. Me.” Mickey challenged the redhead, before he could stop himself. 

Ian felt every drop of blood in his body flee from his extremities, and rush straight to his cock. His mouth was on Mickey’s without hesitation, swallowing the surprised gasp that the thug emitted, as if this had not been exactly what he was craving. They kissed like teenagers, like they couldn’t get enough of one another’s lips and tongues and teeth. Ian’s fingers parted through the short dark brown hair on the back of his husband's head. 

Mickey managed to clamp both hands against the sides of the Ian’s face as he eagerly accepted all that the man had to offer for him, the pads of his thumbs mapping out a line along the ginger’s cheekbones, from the end of Ian’s tapered sideburns to the precipice of his sharp jawline. All the while, the ex-con struggled to remind himself of why he was upset with the man in the first place. He used to be able to hold grudges so easily. But the way Ian moved against him as they kissed, and the way his gifted tongue enticed Mickey’s lips to open up to him…. well Mickey knew it was not the first time Gallagher had been an exception to his rules. And it would certainly not be the last. 

This was mainly why Mickey did not put up much resistance as he felt the redhead begin to lower him into the sheets on his back. He knew the conversation was far from over; Ian would no doubt try and rehash the whole thing a billion times until he was ready to strangle him to death. But at the moment, Mickey understood the simple fact that if he kept his husband's lips entirely occupied, he wouldn’t be able to talk about feelings anymore. 

The hypocrisy of the situation was not at all lost on Mickey, as he chose to outright ignore the fact that he was the one who brought up the goddamn topic to begin with. It was pointless to dwell on that benign reality when he had his husband draped over him like a warm comforter, mauling his mouth like he owned the man. 

Mickey let his legs go limp, pressing the soles of his feet into the floor as Ian pin him deeper and deeper into the mattress, slowly lowering more of his own weight onto the thug. After a few more moments of Ian’s intensity, Mickey felt his rapidly hardening dick being brushed by Ian’s own properly engorged member, and inspite- or perhaps because of- the roughness of the material that separated their sensitive cocks, the thug felt a full body shiver wrack his frame. Frantically, Mickey flattened both of his palms to Ian’s chest and shoved hard enough to get his husbands attention, forcing Ian to part their lips and give the ex-con a merciful moment to heave some air into his starving lungs.

“Fuckin CHRIST Ian-“ Mickey managed to expel the words just in time before Ian’s lips were glued to his once more. This round, however, Ian broke away before Mickey had to resort to twisting the man’s nipple off through his shirt in order to get him to let up.

“Can you let me breathe maybe, carrot-top?” Mickey murmured his unconvincing protest. Apparently, however, the words were falling on deaf ears. Ian was far too preoccupied, slithering down his husband's torso and nipping at the skin of his chest and abdomen through the thinly stretched material of his muscle shirt. Mickey raised his head slightly off of the mattress, purposely ignoring the searing of his neck muscles as he watched the top of Ian’s head descend, leaving small wet patches of fabric in his wake as he traveled. A low groan seemed to be emanating from the redhead’s own throat as he teasingly sunk his teeth into the taut material, the almost imperceptible noise reverberating against Mickey’s clenched abdomen. 

The air the ex-con had been gulping moments before seemed lodged in his tightening throat, unable to move in or out during Ian’s performance. Mickey had to wrestle with his own impulsive nature in order to keep his hands clenched at his sides, only because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his husband would stop immediately if he felt Mickey’s fingers curling through his hair. And as much as it pained him to admit it, in that moment, Mickey would have done anything as long as Ian kept on travelling downwards. 

Watching Ian’s fingers creep conspicuously underneath the bottom of his muscle shit, Mickey sucked his bottom lip into his own mouth, chewing pensively. The redhead’s eyes snapped up to provide Mickey with unbroken eye contact as he shifted the hem of his shirt up slowly, revealing the washed-out expanse of the man’s stomach, a slick sheen of sweat pooling in the grooves of his abdomen, which appeared almost painfully flexed due to the thug straining to keep his head elevated. 

“‘M’ sorry…” Ian’s low voice broke Mickey’s concentration and he blinked for the first time since meeting his husband's gaze. 

“Wha-“ Mickey mumbled clumsily, sounding a bit intoxicated, the way he typically did when Ian was working his magic. It suddenly donned on the ex-con that he had done it. He’d forgotten that he was pissed at the man whose freckled chin was currently resting between his hipbone, just above Mickey’s straining erection.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel taken for granted. I shouldn’t have been such a prick about you being sentimental.” By the tone of his voice, Mickey was able to determine that Ian really meant the apology. But the thug couldn’t let him off the goddamn hook that easily. 

“‘S’ fine…” Mickey grunted as his head flopped back onto the sheets, unable to strain his neck any more. He stared at the ceiling for longer than he should have. Mickey felt the redhead swallow, his Adams’s apple bobbing and brushing against Mickey’s cock, which to the man’s utter embarrassment, remained at full mast.

“It’s not,” Ian murmured into his husband’s skin as he bowed to place slow, sweet kisses into the flesh just above the waistband of his jeans. Mickey tried to stop himself from wriggling under the teasing touch, but his body seemed to react of it’s own accord, his hips lifting an inch off the bed to try and force Ian’s mouth further down. A smirk curled the corners of Ian’s lips, and he pulled away from Mickey’s advances, prompting the man’s hips to drop forcefully onto the mattress and an exasperated grunt to echo around the room.

“Ian, just fuckin-“

“Shhhh- goddamit Mick!” Ian couldn’t help but chuckle as he admonished the man. “Just shut it for a second and let me make it up to you, asshole!”

As Mickey’s brain attempted to work through that fact that he had just been fucking _shushed_ , Ian took full advantage of the distraction. He snaked his fingers into Mickey’s waistband and began shimmying both the boxers and the jeans down over the thug’s thighs, suddenly thankful that he had failed to rebutton them earlier. There was only a momentary struggle as Ian worked the fabric down over the bulge in his way. Mickey’s cock popped free of the material and audibly slapped against his stomach, and Ian deftly removed the garments entirely, flinging them to the floor, all the while keeping his gaze trained on his target.

When Ian finally managed to tear his eyes away from the beautiful sight before him, he glanced up to see that Mickey was still transfixed on the ceiling. Ian knew that the man was trying his best to not give him a reaction, but by the way Mickey’s abdomen swelled and caved in with each deep breath, the redhead predicted that if he had stopped in his tracks right then and there, he would have been throttled instantly.

Lucky for Mickey, Ian had no intention of stopping.

Mickey’s mouth dropped open as Ian’s long digits enclosed around his dick, although no sound escaped. The way Ian could cause him to abandon all sense of self had always been a tad unnerving to him. Unnerving but certainly not unpleasant. The thugs gaze bore into the ceiling like it was his damn job, and there was not a single inch of space in his mind for anything other than the sensation of Ian’s hand firmly squeezing him, applying just the right amount of pressure to set Mickey’s teeth on edge. 

“Mick… look at me,” Ian’s voice was reduced to a sultry rasp. Mickey found himself shifting his shoulders backwards with great effort, until he was propped up on his forearms, taking in the glorious sight of the unparalleled red head, kneeling in front of him, grasping his cock.

“Let me take care of you,” Ian said evenly, and for the life of him, all Mickey could manage to do was nod. The smile that greeted him was instantaneous and nearly blinding, with all those perfect fucking teeth.

 _Jackass_ , the thug thought mutinously, but before he could part his lips to convey this charming rumination, the word was blown clean out of his head as he watched a string of saliva drip from Ian’s lips and onto the bright head of his dick. He was shocked to hear a strangled moan coming from his own throat as Ian worked the spit up and down his shaft. The red head eyed him up, with a wicked smirk perched on his stupid handsome face, and Mickey knew there was no chance in hell that he could not forgive him, for everything, as per usual.

The moment Ian’s hand was replaced by his lips, Mickey felt himself short circuit. The red-head took the thug’s entire cock into his mouth in one motion, and Mickey swore his eyes fucking crossed.

“Ah! F-fuck-“ Mickey’s voice hitched as he blurted the expletive.

Ian palmed his own erection through the material of his sweatpants and allowed himself to moan around Mickey member. Almost as if on instinct, he felt the need to reach over to Mickey’s hand, which lay balled up in the sheets, and guide it to rest on the back of his head. From that point, Mickey needed no further instruction, his tattooed knuckles whiting as he tightened his fist around the shock of ginger strands. Ian, to his credit, permitted Mickey to set the pace. He followed the man’s lead as Mickey swore and murmured praise to him, gradually pushing his husband’s head down until his cock was engulfed right to the base. As Mickey tugged him back upward, Ian’s tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft, gazing up through his eyelashes at his lover and relishing in his strung out expression.

“Mm… mhmmm… shit!” Mickey was miles past the point of trying to stifle his vocalizations. Instead, he tightened his grip in Ian’s hair until his knuckles hurt from the pressure and pushed back down with some force. The pace quickened considerably from that point onward, with Ian playing up the gagging noises every once and a while. Mickey knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Ian had long since worn out his gag-reflex on cocks much more impressive than his own, but the fact that the red-head continued to put in the effort to give him a full show was just as unbelievably hot as the actual sounds he was making.

Mickey could not pin-point the moment when he had lifted his legs to rest on Ian’s shoulders, but there he was, simultaneously grinding his hips up into the red-head’s wet mouth and directing the bobbing of his head up and down the length of Mickey’s cock. Ian’s cheeks were flushed, sweat dripped from his temples and his arms cradled the back of the thug’s thighs. Dirty, unspeakable thoughts flashed in Mickey’s mind like fireworks, but more than that, he determined the finish line was quickly approaching. Ian deserved at least some forewarning, he decided, and tugged on the fist-full of hair sharply, causing the red-head to retreat upward, until only the tip of Mickey’s well lubricated member was slotted between his lips.

The thug realized that his jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth felt like they were creaking in his gums. “Gonna cum soon…” Mickey hissed at his husband, who was regarding him with one eyebrow arched as if to ask why he had been stopped.

Ian smiled devilishly despite his mouth being preoccupied, as he swirled his tongue around the head of Mickey’s cock. That was all the response that was needed. Applying pressure to the back of Ian’s head once again, Mickey felt his soul escape his body as Ian hollowed out his cheeks and sunk down onto the throbbing member. Ian picked up speed much more quickly than before, and Mickey threw his head back involuntarily.

“Ahh, fuck Ian! Oh my fucking- yes!” Mickey felt his body barrel past the point of no return as Ian sucked and twisted and moaned in tandem with the ridiculously pornographic noises Mickey was producing amid his unravelled state. Ian grasped at Mickey’s hips, and yanked him forward, impossibly closer than before, which seemed to defy the laws of the physical universe. These few extra inches of closeness gave the red-head full reign to swallow Mickey’s cock entirely and completely, burying his nose into the curly hairs at the base.

Mickey was a goner. His hips bucked spasmodically, and his heels dug into the muscles of Ian’s back as he orgasmed with a visceral moan that the neighbors on all sides of their apartment would have had no trouble hearing through their paper-thin walls. Mickey couldn’t have given less of a shit in that moment. He was too focused on emptying everything he had in him directly down his husband’s throat.

Ian took it all like a champ, his mouth’s unrelenting suction around Mickey’s cock coaxing every drop of cum out of the man. Only when Mickey began to squirm against the sheets did Ian relent, unsheathing the thug’s cock from between his lips with a wet pop and gingerly lifting his husband’s legs off of him. Ian was certain that if he were to check in the mirror, two bruises would be already starting to appear on his back where Mickey’s had dug his heals in. The thought did not serve to lessen Ian’s own arousal, and as he stood and cracked his back, he absently stroked himself through his sweatpants, shivering at the feeling of the soft material against his most sensitive areas.

Ian’s tongue darted out to catch the remnants of Mickey’s climax as he observed his husband’s form, appearing lifeless on the mattress, all except for his chest which was rolling up and down with each gasp for air like an ocean wave. With a breathy chuckle, Ian knelt back onto the bed and crept up beside the thug. Laying down on his side and worming his arm underneath Mickey’s head, Ian couldn’t contain a smile at the placid, almost _peaceful_ , semblance of Mickey’s features, which normally appeared sharp and hardened after over two decades of practice with shutting people out.

Mickey was once again intimately acquainting himself with the cracks in the ceiling, anything that resembled a coherent thought having been muted by the orgasmic-high he was coming down off of. He felt more than saw Ian curl up next to him, and after a few silent moments of the red head’s warm breath washing over his flushed cheeks, he finally gathered the strength to speak.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” Mickey huffed, hating how breathless he sounded, speaking up into the air above them, “alright, I forgive you dickhead, just- just don’t let it happen again.”

Laughter bubbled up out of Ian’s chest as Mickey twisted his head to the side and came nose to nose with his husband- his gorgeous ginger pain in the ass.

“I guess I’m sorry for bein’ a little bitch…” Mickey continued, watching Ian’s freckles damn near _bounce_ on his cheeks as his laughter dwindled down to a light chuckle.

“You’re not a little bitch… just a romantic.” Ian murmured, and pecked Mickey’s lips, twice for good luck. Mickey chose not to address the notion, as he wasn’t sure it was entirely accurate, and he didn’t feel like bursting Ian’s bubble so soon after making up.

“Well whatever the fuck I am…” Mickey snorted, shifting onto his side and tangling his bare legs with Ian’s clothed ones, “I didn’t mean what I said. Ya know, before…” The thug trailed off, thinking maybe he should just shut up and fuck his husband, instead of trying to stumble around what he was trying to say like an idiot.

“Which part?” Ian questioned sincerely.

“’Bout you not givin’ a shit the first time I kissed you.” Mickey tried to maintain eye contact, but he chickened out after a few seconds of peering into the sparkling green of Ian’s eyes. “I know you gave a shit back then… and ya still do.”

Ian’s whole body was warm and tingly at his husbands’ words. “Well I didn’t marry your ass for nothin’!” He chirped and hugged into Mickey’s sweat-soaked, solid figure. Mickey returned the embrace gratefully, burying his face into Ian’s shoulder and breathing in his scent.

“Also, it’s real adorable that you think that was the end of my ‘ _apology_ ’,” Ian whispered into the thug’s ear, the tone of his voice taking on a seductive quality that caused Mickey’s heart to palpitate in his chest. The redhead pressed his hips forward into his husband’s exposed thigh and Mickey let out a unidentifiable sound at the sensation of Ian’s rock-hard cock brushing against him.

“That was just an appetizer, really…” Ian’s hand found its way down to Mickey’s ass-cheek, kneading the flesh with the heal of his hand before running his fingers gently along the pock-mark scars, feeling each nearly imperceptible groove, reading it like braille. “I’d say it’s about time to move onto the main course, Mick. Don’t you think?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! xoxo -Jin


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